A Red Christmas
by Darkflame5
Summary: The Doctor, while trying to find real, proper Earth snow for Christmas, finds himself in the middle of Soviet Russia.
1. Chapter 1

This is a Doctor Who fanfic written by both myself and my friend CreativeBomb on DeviantArt.

**Disclaimer:** Any and all Doctor Who characters belong to BBC. Characters which you do not recognize likely belong to either myself or CreativeBomb.

* * *

A young man shivered slightly as the bitter Russian winds sliced across his body, picking up trails of powdery snow and whipping it into small, miniature twisters around his feet. He sighed, watching his breath condense in front of him as he buttoned his collar up the rest of the way, restricting his breath slightly.

"Comrade," He turned to his larger companion, biting his lip to stop his teeth from chattering, "How long has it been since we stepped out?"

"I don't know, I've lost track." The other man replied, "Surely our shift's almost over by now, though."

"Right…of course." The first made sighed again, glancing back at the drab building he and his companion had been guarding. "Comrade," He started again, "Do you know why we're watching this building like foxes watch a hen house?"

"Well," the second man replied, with a tone of one explaining something very obvious to a small child, "This is the boss's headquarters, and it would be very bad if any of his enemies were to get in."

"But Petrov—" The first man started, before his companion shot him a rather cold look. "Sorry, Comrade," the man corrected himself, only to be silenced by Petrov's gloved hand slapping over his mouth. His protests were muffled through the leather gloves, but they were still loud regardless.

"Could you hold your tongue just this once, Raivis?" Petrov hissed angrily, "Stupid boy, can't you hear that?"

A strange sound was echoing across the frozen tundra, inconsistent to the usual howling of the wind. Petrov sharply turned his head, trying to pinpoint the source of the sound. Raivis looked around as well, mainly to avoid his neck being snapped in half from Petrov's iron grip. His eyes widened as he suddenly heard what his companion had picked up; it definitely wasn't natural sounding, and it wasn't exactly an engine on a jeep or snow mobile. It was sort of a whirring that rippled across the very air itself, causing almost an eerie vibration around anything, and everything.

Simultaneously, the two spotted the source of the noise; a tall, wooden blue box perched off in the distance. They were certain that this was the origin of the sound, because really, it couldn't have been anything else. And it hadn't been there before…had it?

"Comrade," Petrov started, removing his hand from Raivis' mouth, "Call the boss."

"But Petrov—Comrade—" Raivis started, "Shouldn't we investigate this together? What if you need back-up?"

"Are you not only questioning your superior, Comrade," Petrov started in a harsh tone, "But doubting my abilities? It's just a box, I'm fairly positive I can handle myself." Crossing his arms, he waited until the young man pulled out his walkie-talkie, before starting towards the strange box.

Upon closer inspection, Petrov was able to read the words, "Police Box" written across the top of the strange object in bolded print. He circled the potential threat fairly quickly, his boots crunching under the snow as he stepped and turned, stepped and turned, gun poised by his face as he scanned for anything potentially harmful. Brought back to the front of the bizarre blue box, Petrov concluded it posed no threat. It wasn't even that impressive-looking, sporting only a short little light on its top, and a phone built into the side in desperate need of repair.

"Called the boss Pe—Comrade!" Raivis called, jamming the walkie-talkie back into his coat pocket, "So what is it?"

"Some sort of…wooden box." Petrov responded, slipping his gun back into his coat pocket, "It's got 'Police Box' written across it…and it looks incredibly old."

"Well, why is it here?" Raivis asked, "And how did it get here in the first place?"

"How should I know?" Petrov snapped angrily, "And before you answer me with another stupid comment, why don't you do something productive with that mouth of yours, and see what the boss wants us to do with it?"

Nodding frantically, Raivis fished his walkie-talkie back out of his coat. Petrov groaned, turning back to the blue box out of simple curiosity. He noticed a small door handle one of its sides, so naturally, he reached to try and open it. He nearly lost his balance as the door swung open on its own, presenting a strangely underdressed, brown haired young man wearing the most ridiculous-looking bowtie around his neck.

"Snow!" He cried excitedly, glancing around the frozen tundra with wide, bright eyes, his expression and tone similar to that of a child in a candy store, "I can't believe it! It's actual snow, right?" He almost seemed as if he were asking himself the question as he held his hand outside, hoping to catch one of the delicate flakes that had begun to fall from the sky, "It's not synthetic, is it? Or ship debris, because if it was, I would be incredibly upset."

Petrov stared at this strange, bizarre man, with his mouth slightly agape. He was utterly bewildered, both by the man's sudden appearance, and by his eccentric behavior. Regaining his composure, he snapped his mouth shut and turned back to Raivis, "Tell the boss there's a man inside the box."

"A man?" The stranger looked outraged as Raivis relayed the message, "Just a man now, am I?" He shook his head in disappointment, "This is the problem with faking your death. One minute, you're the talk of the galaxy, practically everyone—and I do mean everyone—knows who you are, and the next thing you know, no one looks twice at you! I couldn't walk anywhere without crowds of people pointing guns at me, or just giving me this sort of funny stare…" He glanced over at Petrov again, clapping his hands excitedly together at the man's expression, "Yes, that one, right there! That's the very look! Boy, I miss that look. It's really dull, just popping in and out without recognition, but I must keep this charade up long enough to get where I gotta go without any further interruptions—Snow!" He cried, suddenly remembering his original purpose, "That's right, is this real snow?" He held up his hands, silencing Petrov before he could speak, "No, wait, rephrase, is this Earth snow? Of course I've seen snow before, but extraterrestrial snow's not as cool as Earth snow, but there was this one planet where the stuff was mulit—"

"—SHUT UP!" With a ferocious roar, Petrov's fist swung out and connected squarely with the chattering man's face, who promptly collapsed.

"Petrov—!" Raivis nearly dropped his communication device into the snow, staring at the man slumped at the feet of his companion.

"See, Comrade?" Petrov commented lightly, nudging the man with his boot curiously, "This is what happens to those who run their mouth carelessly." He glanced up towards Raivis coldly, "What did the boss say?"

Momentarily forgetting how to speak, Raivis cleared his throat nervously, "He…he ah…" He shook his head, trying to stop his hands from trembling, "He wanted us to bring the man to him, as soon as possible." Raivis' face fell slightly, and he wrapped his arms tightly around his body to stop it from shaking, "P—Comrade—the boss sounded…strange when I told him about the man and his blue box."

"This entire situation is strange," Petrov replied, glancing down at the unconscious mass that lay before him. "Come on then, boy. Help me lift him."

Though Raivis doubted Petrov actually needed any help lifting the man, he obliged, grabbing the stranger by his arms.

-Elsewhere-

In a remote location, a few miles away from the nearest village, a strange phenomenon was occurring. A kind of shimmer had appeared in the air above the snow. It wavered for a moment, then condensed into something resembling a tear, as if some great being had ripped the very fabric of air itself.

There was a light that spilled out from this tear. It was a strange, reddish light, similar to a glow from a furnace. The rift grew wider, and the air around it seemed to bend, like the air above the pavement in the middle of summer. It was as if there was an inferno raging behind that rip in the sky.

As the rift grew wider, the hellish light was suddenly obscured by a dark shape inside the tear. It stumbled forward, promptly falling face first into the snow. The figure appeared to be a man, with blond hair covered in soot, and charred, black clothing. The figure groaned, raising his head slightly as he croaked;

"I…I made it…"

A bright light began to emanate from the body as his head plopped back into the snow, melting the powdery substance into a thick steam that concealed the body.

* * *

End of chapter one!

If things don't make sense, that's okay, they're not supposed to yet.

Review Please!


	2. Chapter 2

Again, this story is co-written by myself and my friend CreativeBomb on DA.

**Disclaimer:** Any and all Doctor Who characters belong to BBC. Names and characteristics of Hetalia characters belong to Himaruya. Basically, if you recognize the character, it probably does not belong to us.

* * *

Ivan Braginski wouldn't seem to fit the profile of a Soviet mob leader. Sure, he was large in both height and size, but in all honesty, he looked like an overgrown child. He always wore the same drab coat and scarf, his pale grey hair was messy and untamed, and he always had some sort of small, innocent smile on his face. Even his eyes were light and warm, completely contrasting the expected cold, steel gaze a leader of the time would use to instill fear and obedience, and command respect from his followers.

Yet Ivan Braginski was known throughout Russia as the most fearsome, cruel, and horrifying leader.

This, naturally, would not make sense. Surely, such a childish-looking leader would be laughed at, and overthrown in moments.

This is where one would be horribly, horribly wrong.

Ivan knew very well he was not the most fearsome looking leader in Russia's long history, but why on earth should he have to follow in other's footsteps? After all, it was thanks to his innocent-looking appearance that his men followed him to the letter, kept them crushed under his thumb.

Because let's be honest; what's more terrifying than a cold-calculating murderer who's smile is that of a young child's?

* * *

- - -Elsewhere- - -

By now, the steam had begun to clear, revealing a new, still unconscious man, half-covered by slush and snow. He twitched to life, spitting snow out of his mouth as he gasped for breath. With much effort, he pushed himself to his knees, taking in the blinding, white surroundings, suddenly aware at how wet his tattered jeans had become.

"Huh." He glanced down at the puddle of mush he'd been sleeping in not moments ago, "Must have regenerated."

A wind picked up and whirled powdered snow around him and he shivered, his damp, tattered clothing clinging to his skin. He stood, looking around as he began to rub his arms for warmth.

"I need to get out of this cold," He muttered to no one in particular. "Need new clothes. Warmer clothes. Town!" He began to limp in a seemingly random direction, his breath trailing behind him. "Where's a town?"

* * *

His half-hearted lumbering was soon rewarded with a village, shrouded in snow, far off in the distance. A few shacks could be seen still standing, surrounded by hard sheets of ice and piles of broken wood. The town was void of any human activity, or any life at all for that matter. The only sound that could be heard was the howling of the wind through the shambles, whipping up miniature snow tornados and sending them throughout the empty streets.

It was virtually a ghost town.

The man quickened his pace as the town crept into view, though he didn't get very far before he stopped in his place. Two figures had materialized out of the snowstorm, their movements uncoordinated as they swung canteens haphazardly around by the straps. Their loud, hearty laughter cause a scowl to slither onto the man's face.

"Humans," he spat venomously, but the scowl slowly turned into a sneer as he stood, waiting to see if they dared come any closer.

Minutes later, he continued on his way, leaving the two corpses behind him to be swallowed up by the drifting snow.

* * *

He entered the town with a skip in his step, the smile frozen on his face as he admired his handiwork from afar. As he stared, though, his grin began to fade, and his skip turned into almost a drag.

"I don't get it…" He said to the ghost town. "I should be happy about this. Why am I unhappy about this?"

He paced around in a little circle, following his own footprints as he continued the one-way conversation, growing louder and more frantic with each sentence.

"I _like_ killing things. Killing things is _fun!_ So why don't I feel right about this?"

He looked positively terrified now, not even realizing he was practically shrieking.

"What's wrong with me? Why does everything feel so _wrong!_"

He stood in his circle of footprints, panting in the ringing silence that followed.

"Silence…" He said almost in awe. "It's quiet. I-I don't understand, why—it's never been—"

His eyes widened as he inhaled sharply, causing a tremor to run through his body. "They're gone," He breathed, "The drums are gone."

* * *

Hopefully, some things should be making a little more sense now. If not... oh, well!

...Also, writing that last bit was way more fun than it should have been...

~Reviews would be lovely!~


	3. Chapter 3

Story co-written by myself and CreativeBomb from DA.

**Disclaimer:** Any and all Doctor Who characters belong to BBC. Hetalia characters belong to Himaruya. The creepy child, however, actually does belong to us... oh, goody?

* * *

No sooner had he made this connection did his hands clutch tightly around his head as he dropped soundlessly to his knees.

"It's so quiet…" He doubled over, his voice jumping in octave, "It hurts—it _hurts!_"

"I hurt…" Tears began to freeze on his face, "I hurt…but why? Why do I hurt? Why…" He continued to ask, his own echo responding back to him as he knelt in the snow, shaking with sobs.

"Comrade?" A muffled voice spoke out from nowhere in particular. "Comrade, I believe you are suffering from hypothermia, da? You are not well dressed to travel the Motherland…"

"Wha-?!" He looked up, spotting a small overcoat dragging itself across the snowy street, dressed in a large, fur cap with a long, flapping scarf whipping behind it. The thing would almost look comical, if the man wasn't already in such a state of distress. He fell back, trying to scramble away from the intruder.

"Wh-who are you?! Wh-wh-where did you come from?!" He chattered.

The thing simply stared at the man, pausing a mere few inches away as it spoke once more.

"Where did you come from, comrade?"

"I-I asked you first!" He snapped. "Answer my question first!"

"You know where I am." The child waved a floppy sleeve around the village. "From here, from Russia."

"Russia?" The man blinked, before scowling darkly. "Of all the planets…" He groaned loudly, running a hand through his stiffened hair.

"Suffice to say, I-I'm not f-f-from around here."

The wind began to pick up again, causing the man to shiver.

"Hey, where's some clothing around here? Mine are useless now," he finished, looking down at his torn and sooty clothes.

"Yes, you are not dressed for this occasion," the child mused. "Lucky for you that you wandered into this abandoned village, da?"

"Yeah yeah…" The man slowly stood, pushing the child away as it tried to help, and limped towards the nearest building.

"Oh, uh." The child pulled vehemently at the rags the man wore for a shirt. "You would not want to go in there, comrade. Here, come with me; I know where we can go."

The man blinked, but allowed the child to pull him in the opposite direction.

* * *

"This used to belong to my Otets, my father."

The child prattled on, ripping shirts and jackets off of their hangers and pulling long, woolly coats off of their hooks.

"He would always scold me when I played with his coats. But Myat, my mother, she just smiled."

It plopped a pile of clothing onto the bed, where its new friend sat shivering.

"This was her scarf," the child explained, pulling out a long, grey scarf from the mesh of cloth and fabric. "And these belong to my older brother." He plucked out a pair of black gloves, handing them to the man expectantly.

"Thanks," the man muttered, allowing the gloves to be dropped into his hands. "But wouldn't your family mind me taking all their stuff?" He paused, thinking hard about what he had just said. Was this how normal people hold a conversation with one another?

"Not that I care, or anything," he added lamely.

The child stiffened slightly, its sleeve-hidden hands clinging to the hem of another undershirt pulled halfway off of its hanger.

"They…uh…they moved, comrade. To a village above this one…"

It jerked the shirt off of the hanger, scurrying to the man as it added, "The whole village moved to that place. Families, neighbors, friends, even their enemies, all got up one day and left…" It clenched the shirt tightly, before setting it next to the man.

"So," The man started, beginning to slip a dozen shirts over his body, "Why're you still here?"

The child was silent for a minute or so, pulling its body up onto the bed next to the man. It placed its sleeves in its lap, swinging its feet side to side, until finally, the child spoke.

"I…I am afraid to go."

The man paused, staring at the child with a strange expression on his face.

"…Why are you afraid?" he said quietly.

The child looked surprised, as if it wasn't use to the question.

"W-well, what if I get lost? Or nobody wants me? Or," He looked down at his sleeves, "What if my family's forgotten all about me?"

The man's eyes widened almost imperceptibly, and he looked down at the ground.

"I…" he started. He paused, then looked back at the child, his eyes softening slightly.

"I don't… think they would. I mean, they are your family. And you… you care about them, right? So, I don't think they've forgotten you…" he said softly.

"Do you think so?" The child asked in a hopeful tone.

"Yeah," he replied.

The child was quiet for another moment or two, before saying, "Is it worth it?"

The man considered for a moment.

"Yes," he said firmly.

The child thought about this. It swung its legs slightly, wrapping its sleeves around its head as it contemplated silently. Finally, it spoke.

"Thank you, comrade. I think I would be here longer if not for you. And now, allow me to help you." It pointed a floppy sleeve to the back door.

"If you head outside, and continue in that direction, you will find what you're looking for."

"What I'm… looking for?"

"Of course!" The child mused, "Everyone needs a Doctor, right?"

The man's eyes widened as he stared at the strange child. For a moment, it seemed as if he was going to yell at the child, then a strange look passed over his face as he seemed to reconsider. Abruptly, he turned around and started walking briskly towards the door. As he reached it, he paused.

"…thank you…" he said softly, turning to face the child, only to find that the room was empty.

* * *

Being bound to a chair with a rather scratchy coil of rope wasn't exactly the most elaborate or dramatic way to be imprisoned. Over the years, the strange man had found it to be a hobby of his to count the number of ways someone had rendered him immobile, but this particular style never failed to make an appearance. He could easily free himself from such a primitive technique, but his curiosity trapped him. It was always fun to have a chat with the head honcho of whatever establishment he found himself in. And if he was correct, and he usually was, he'd been wanting to meet this man for quite some time now.

The door opened, and a tall, slightly pudgy man in a large coat and a gray scarf walked in, a bright, childlike smile on his face.

"Privet, Doctor. I trust you are comfortable," he said brightly.

"Ivan Braginski!" The Doctor responded in a similar tone. "You know how long I've been looking forward to talk to the man who doesn't exist?"

"Ahh, so you have heard about me," Ivan's smile widened. "And I have heard many things about you too, Doctor."

"If that's the case," The Doctor contributed his own goofy grin, "I suppose the only thing left to do is spill the big plan, huh? Come on, Ivan, I'm dying to know. That welcoming committee of yours has gotten my interest."

"Da, I do apologize for them. But why must you be so suspicious of me, Doctor? I merely require assistance with a simple disagreement between myself and a friend of mine."

"Well, I'm pretty good at resolving conflicts." The Doctor responded. "But that depends on what exactly Russia's gotten itself into. And quite frankly," he added, eyebrows raised. "The solution isn't one I support."

"Hmm, but you will help me, Doctor," Ivan stated, his face darkening.

"No, I really don't think I will." The Doctor shifted his seat around, moving it so his back was facing his captor. He crossed his legs as he continued.

"See, I don't really like to interfere in others affairs, unless there's crying children involved. And quite frankly, I see a lack of that anywhere in your establishment."

Ivan's face brightened. "That can be arranged."

Quickly, and without warning, The Doctor suddenly found himself face to face with the large man, his chair tilted precariously with only two legs remaining on the ground.

"You're rather fast for someone of your size," The Doctor commented, his smile vanishing from his face.

Ivan leaned down so that his face was merely inches away from The Doctor's, a dangerous smile playing about his lips.

"You will assist me, Doctor. Whether you like it or not."

"And if I refuse?" The Doctor responded.

"If you refuse, I will have my little sister talk to you."

"Your… sister." The Doctor made a face. "Whaat, big scary man has to send his little sister to get information?"

Ivan merely turned and walked towards the door. He opened it, then turned back to the Doctor with a grimace.

"You don't know my sister."

And with that cryptic remark, Ivan turned and walked out the door, closing it behind him.

The Doctor's mood suddenly turned sour at his captor's remark. "And I was having such a nice time."

With a sigh, he began to wiggle around in his chair. "Ah well, couldn't stay forever! Now, if I could just…" A frown began to spread across his face as the ropes refused to budge.

"Al…right…that's a little unnerving."

He began to rock back and forth, his legs flailing about as he tried to escape.

"What the-bloody rope, untie! Or, loosen, at least!"

After a moment, he gave up, leaning back in the chair as he panted heavily.

"I'm getting too old for this nonsense."

Several minutes passed with exceptional uneventfullness.

* * *

Well, now...

We may have just caught a glimpse of that elusive creature known as the plot.

As always, reviews are lovely~


	4. Chapter 4

Story co-written by myself and CreativeBomb on DA.

**Disclaimer:** Any and all Doctor Who characters belong to BBC. Any and all Hetalia characters belong to Himaruya. We just like to torture them.

* * *

-A few minutes ago-

Ivan closed the door behind him, and turned to his two friends waiting in the hallway.

"Guard this door and make sure my guest does not leave early. I am going up to my office. My sister should be down in a little bit to talk with our guest," he said, smiling lightly.

"Of course." Petrov nodded slightly. Raivis mimicked him, though with a little more enthusiasm.

"Good. _Das vidania, comrades_." With a slight wave, the large man disappeared down the hallway, leaving the two alone.

"Geez, that was scary!" Raivis panted, "I was too scared to breathe!"

Petrov let out an exasperated sigh.

"Just make sure you do your job, and he won't punish you."

"Right, of course." Raivis looked at the door curiously. "Do you think the boss knows who that man is?"

Petrov just looked at Raivis.

"No. Because that's obviously why he had us bring the box as well as the prisoner. Of course he knows something about him, _debil_."

"Do you think he's an _anglichanin_?" Raivis continued. "He sounded like one. He was even in one of those… phone booths, I think they're called." He tilted his head slightly. "Maybe he's mad. But if he was, why would the boss be interested in a mad Englishman?"

Petrov grimaced. "Who knows what goes through the Boss's head. Still, he must be important, or the Boss wouldn't be so interested."

"Oh, he is."

The two whirled around to find a tall, red-haired man standing in front of them, smirking.

"Now, gentlemen, if you would be so kind as to let me through."

* * *

If there was one thing the Doctor couldn't stand—well, that wasn't true. There were many things The Doctor could not stand, and many of these dislikes changed with every new identity. Mostly, it had to do with his taste in food, but that was beside the point. The one thing above everything else, above crying children and toasted bread, was silence. Complete and utter silence. Something had to happen soon; he'd been bouncing his foot for the past five minutes or so now, waiting for his apparent torturer to enter through the door. Even that would be better in comparison to this!

The doors exploded inward with the force of a small cannon. A body flew across the room to smash against the opposite wall and fall to the floor in a pile of… snow?

The noise alone sent The Doctor up into the air, only to land unsteadily on the back of the chair and, unable to regain balance, sent him face first into the floor.

"Oww!" He shouted as his ears rang. "Well congratulations! You've broken three of my senses in one bloody go!"

An amused snort sounded from the opposite side of the room. Footsteps approached the Doctor's position on the floor, stopping right in front of him, and giving the Doctor a lovely view of a rather dirty pair of boots.

"Need some help?" a voice deadpanned from somewhere above him.

"Ah, yes, help would be very helpful." The Doctor responded in a slightly muffled tone. "Take your time though, I've been told my nose could be smaller."

The man raised an eyebrow at this comment, even though he knew the man on the floor couldn't see him. He walked around to the man's side and reached down to begin untying the ropes.

"There," he muttered, less than a minute later. "Done."

"What, that quick?" The Doctor flipped to his back, wincing as he touched his nose with his index finger. "You must be some sort of professional then, because lemme tell yah, that was some incredibly tricky rope."

"…Not really," The man said, holding out a hand to help the Doctor up.

"Yes, well," The Doctor accepted the stranger's hand happily. "I'm The Doctor, by the way, and are you affiliated with any other sort of organization?" He glanced over at the unconscious mass buried in slush. "One that seems to use snow as some sort of weapon? Oh, please don't tell me your part of Mother Nature's Weather Squad."

"I… what? No!" the man spluttered.

"Oh good, because I don't think there is such a thing." The Doctor laughed. "Oh don't look so disappointed, you can tell me your name now."

"R-right… um, I'm, erm… Roger…" the man said.

"Roger!" The Doctor wrapped an arm around the man's neck. "Roger the Redhead! I rather like that, Rrrrroger the Rrrredhead, lots of R's to roll, how did you get your hair to be so red? I've been trying for years now!"

"Um, it's just… like that," Roger replied, sounding rather nonplussed. Then the rest of what the Doctor had said registered and he glared.

"No, you will NOT call me that! I FORBID you from calling me that, Doctor!"

"Right, I'll do my best to remember that, but first," The Doctor's gaze shifted back to the man in the rapidly melting snow. "I've got some doctoring to do."

Ignoring Roger's glares, he started to the snow-covered man, getting down onto one knee as he checked him over.

"I do hope you didn't hit him too hard…" He added, his tone slightly darker than before.

Behind the Doctor, Roger's face turned curiously blank.

"He'll be fine," he said quietly. "He's just unconscious."

"The permanent kind or the temporary kind?" The Doctor inquired.

"…Temporary," he replied, his face still blank.

"That's the kind I prefer." The Doctor glanced up, a sharp gasp escaping his throat. "And just what is that supposed to be?!"

Roger turned to see what the Doctor was staring at. A second body lay sprawled near the doors.

His face and voice still strangely blank, he replied, "Don't worry, he's only knocked out."

"Two knockouts?!" The Doctor's voice jumped as he hurried over to the other man. "Look, if you're trying to impress me or something, you better tell your boss this is not the way to do it!"

"I'm not working for anyone," Roger replied sharply.

"Are you just trying to impress me, then?" The Doctor asked darkly. "Because really, it's not the way to go."

"I'm _trying _to rescue you!" Roger's blank face shattered and he glared at the Doctor, striding forward to grab his arm and start dragging him out of the room.

"Wait wait! I'm-I'm a full grown man!" The Doctor cried as he dug his heels into the rug. "My legs work perfectly well—we haven't finished testing your morality just yet!"

"We can worry about that after we get out of here," Roger said snapped, dragging the Doctor out into the corridor.

* * *

The minutes ticked by as the two shot down the endless corridors and hallways, slowing in pace whenever they heard footsteps that weren't their own, ducking in and out of corners with Roger in the lead and the Doctor chattering ceaselessly.

"Come _oon_, the least you can do is tell me where we're going!" The Doctor complained for the umpteenth time. "I'm one for surprises, but I swear I'll burst if I don't get a straight answer soon!"

"We're getting out of here, where else would we go?!" Roger snapped.

"But I'm—alright, just hold on a moment!" The Doctor dug his heels into the ground. "Would you just wait?"

"What?! What could _possibly _be more important than escaping this messed up place?"

"I would think a means of escape would be—"The Doctor let out a loud groan as he grabbed for a nearby door. "Look, I'm not going to let go of this door until you stop and listen for a minute!"

Roger sighed. "Fine. What is it?"

The Doctor kept his hand tightly around the doorknob as he continued. "Mr. Roger, did you have any idea how to truly 'escape'? Not just from this building, but from this place? And what if we run into locked doors? I'm sure brute force would only make the situation worse."

"Well, what do you suggest, then?"

"Well firstly, we must get back my screwdriver!" The Doctor let out an exasperated sigh, "If I come back empty-handed, I'm pretty sure she'll lock me out. And then there's the matter of finding her in this labyrinth!"

Roger raised one eyebrow, though the rest of his face had become strangely blank again. "Um… her? Wait, why would you need a screwdriver?" he asked carefully.

The Doctor opened his mouth, more than likely to go off on another long rant, when he froze, staring down to the end of the hallway. Roger followed his gaze, but was surprised to see not a group of fearsome-looking men, but a girl in a blue dress with long, light brown hair and a cold expression on her face.

"Run." The Doctor gasped out.

"What?"

"_Run!_" The Doctor dragged Roger down the hallway, pounding across the floor as they flew through doors and practically leapt up staircases.

* * *

And our two main characters finally meet up! 'Bout time, really. It only took them four chapters.

Anyways, thanks for reading, and please review!


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: **Sorry for taking so long with this chapter, school and theater ate my life. School's still eating my life, as a matter of fact. I also may have gotten distracted with such things as Merlin and the english version of Hetaoni...

As always, neither Doctor Who or Hetalia is mine, they belong to BBC and Himaruya, respectively.

Anyways, so here's chapter 5 of me and CreativeBomb's fic.

* * *

A few minutes later, the two men were hurtling down an upstairs hallway. The Doctor finally slowed to a stop, occasionally glancing behind as Roger slumped down the wall, panting heavily.

"I think we lost her." The Doctor smiled. "Wow, that would've been incredibly unfortunate for us!"

Roger grinned back and opened his mouth to reply, but froze, staring over The Doctor's shoulder at something at the end of the hallway.

"What are you—" The Doctor turned, his eyes widening as the girl stood at the end of the hallway once more. "H-how is that even possible!?"

"Does it really matter?!" Roger asked. Looking around, he noticed an open door a little ways behind them.

"Look, in there!"

He grabbed the Doctor's arm and began to run towards the doorway. As he entered the room, he could feel The Doctor's arm being pulled from his grasp. He whirled around in time to see the mysterious girl slam the door in his face.

"Hey!" The Doctor's eyes widened as the girl turned the lock. "Well that was terribly rude!"

"You will come with me," she said, grabbing the Doctor roughly and shoving him in front of her.

"And you," she called to the man behind the door. "You will stay there so that my big brother can speak with you. I am sure he will be very interested to know how you managed to get in here and help the prisoner to escape."

"Now see here, little girl," The Doctor crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned toward the child. "Just how do you expect to make me cooperate? What are yah gonna do, kick me in the shins?"

The girl scowled coldly at him. "Get moving," she spat, delivering a swift kick to his shin.

"Owowow!" The Doctor jumped up and down, whining painfully as he clutched his ankle. "Why?! That's not a thing children are actually supposed to do; it's just a figure of speech!"

"I'm not a child. Now move." And she grabbed the Doctor's arm in a vice-like grip and began dragging him towards the stairs.

* * *

A few minutes later, the two descended a set of stairs into a room that resembled a dungeon more than a basement. It had stone floors and walls, and was too dark to clearly see your hand in front of your face. The girl dragged the Doctor over to an empty cell and shoved him inside.

"Turn around," she ordered.

"Well only because you asked so nicely," The Doctor sighed. "To be honest, I'd take being locked in a dungeon than tied to a chair any day."

The girl smiled coldly, before pulling out a length of rope and tying the Doctor's hands behind his back, as well as tying his arms to his sides.

"Stay here while I inform my brother about your pathetic escape attempt," she stated, closing the cell door, locking it, and placing the key in a pocket in her dress. She turned on her heel and walked up the stairs out of the basement/dungeon.

"This is a little bit of overkill, don't you think!?" The Doctor shouted. "I mean, I'm trapped in an ice-covered land mass inside an impenetrable fortress locked down in a dark dungeon with my hands tied behind my back!"

He stomped around the cell angrily as he continued, "I mean, what do you expect me to do? Pick the lock with my fingers?! If you're gonna throw me behind bars, give me my hands so I can fling them around angrily as I ramble loudly to myself!"

A small, tired laugh sounded from the corner of the dungeon. "Heh. Sounds like a problem."

* * *

Natalya walked quickly down an upstairs hallway towards her brother's office. Her big brother would be so pleased that she had captured the intruder and stopped the prisoner from escaping.

She smiled proudly to herself; he would surely be happy with her, and then she could stay by his side forever. Consumed in her fantasies, she reached the door to her brother's office, raised her hand, and knocked.

"Yes, who is it?"

Smiling brightly, still thinking of how proud of her he was going to be, she said cheerfully, "Brother, I came to tell you that the escaped prisoner has been captured and is locked in the basement, and the man who assisted him has been locked in a room on the second floor. I thought you might wish to talk with him."

"What man?" She was surprised to hear a hint of anger in her brother's tone.

"I—I don't know," She answered truthfully. "He was just a man."

"Well, where did he come from?" Her brother persisted.

"I…" Natalya frowned, "I don't know."

"Is he alone?"

Natalya nodded, then shook her head, "Uh, I don't—I didn't see anyone else—"

"Natalya." Her brother's voice was cold as ice, and infinitely more deadly. "If he can break into this complex, what makes you think a wooden door and lock will hold him?"

"But I had to take the prisoner—"

"—And instead of going back to make sure the intruder was still there, you came to see me.

Why did you not call for assistance?"

"I-I wasn't thinking about it at the time…" Natalya answered, avoiding her brother's gaze.

"And there was your first mistake." Her brother slowly took the desk phone off of its hook, deliberately punching the numbers as he added, "I am surprised this base is still standing because of your incompetence."

"I-I'm sorry brother, I…"

"Never mind your excuses." He placed the phone back onto the receiver. "Get out of my way, Natalya, I have to go clean up your mess."

Natalya fell back against the door in shock as her brother pushed past her into the hallway. She stared helplessly after him as he stormed down the corridor, her face blank.

"Brother…"

After a moment or two, her face began to contort itself into a scowl. This was all the fault of those two strangers. It was _their_ fault that her beloved brother was mad at her.

They would pay.

* * *

Roger stared at the locked door in shock for almost a minute before coming to his senses. His prison wasn't really anything more than a simple office, with some filing cabinets along one wall, and a large wooden desk with a comfortable looking chair in the center.

Seeing nothing that would be particularly useful in helping himself to escape, Roger growled in frustration and stalked over to the desk. He sat down heavily in the chair and threw his head back, running his hands down his face.

"Why can't I do this?" he groaned. "I'm really actually trying to help. I'm trying to be _good_, and all I did was get us _both_ captured! Why I can't do anything _right?"_

With that, Roger pitched forward to hit his head on the desk in front of him. He sat there with his forehead resting on the desk for what seemed like ages, although it was probably only a few minutes. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that one of the desk drawers had not been closed properly. Frowning to himself, he reached out to open it, more out of habit than anything else.

As Roger stared at the contents of the drawer, he began to laugh.

"Oh, this is too good," he said as he removed an object from the drawer, a delighted grin forming on his face.

"Let's do this."

* * *

And so they escape only to be captured again almost immediately. Any guesses as to what "Roger" found in the desk drawer?

Next chapter should be up pretty soon.

Thanks for reading, and please leave a review!~


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: **I _said_ that the next chapter would be up soon. :)

Anyways, chapter six of me and CreativeBomb's story.

Doctor Who belongs to BBC, Hetalia belongs to Himaruya.

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The Doctor froze within his cell, looking around blindly in the dark as he tried to pinpoint the source of the voice.

"Yes I…suppose this is a bit of a puzzler. Ah, you're not here to make it more difficult, are you?"

"Kesese. I don't think I'm really in a position to do much of anything," the voice replied.

"Ah, a fellow prisoner of war!" The Doctor said cheerfully. "Excellent! I was afraid I'd only have myself to talk to."

There was a brief silence, and when the voice replied, it sounded kind of strained. "Nope. I'm kinda a permanent resident down here."

"Wouldn't have any rope cutter then, hm?" The Doctor groaned, half-heartedly wiggling once more as he continued, "Honestly, I've never had so much trouble with rope before! I think Russians are just, naturally gifted with incredible rope tying talents! I'm—you know what, I'm starting to think this isn't actually rope! It must be some sort of alien technology, some super material made from, oh I don't know, some extra-terrestrial energy!"

"...Okay, then." A series of coughs came from the cell next to The Doctor's, some sounding more forced than they should. "A-anyways, so, who are you and what'd you do to get the bossman pissed off at ya?"

The Doctor paused, "Formal introductions, of course! I knew I was forgetting something—I'm The Doctor! And…" Another pause, "You know, now that I have to think about it, I'm not too sure what I did! I just wanted to see actual snow for once!"

"Snow, huh? We'll we've sure got plenty of—" He paused briefly to cough a few times. "Plenty of that up here." The voice laughed again, though it was hoarser than before. "Anyways, Doctor, you—" He paused again to try and clear his throat, "You have the supreme pleasure of being in the company of the _awesome_Gilbert Beilschmidt!"

"Oh, then I'm supremely honored to meet you!" The Doctor responded happily. "Well, hear you, at any rate. And from what I _hear_, you've got a bit of a cough."

" 'S pretty damp down here." Gilbert responded tartly.

"Indeed it is. I'd offer you something, but I'm a little tied up at the moment." The Doctor looked around his cell with a sigh, "Well, I feel like I'll be here for a while. Any ideas how to pass time? I've heard singing makes it go by rather quick, but I've been told that my voice breaks more than glass."

"Weeeelll," Another coughing fit, "You could tell me 'bout why you came to _Russia_to look for snow, and I could tell you 'bout some of the AWESOME things that I'VE done."

"That sounds suspiciously like a challenge!" The Doctor grinned. "Alright, I'm game."

* * *

It was a beautiful sight to see when a perfect plan came together. Each individual, tasked with a singular goal aimed towards a unified effort, working together like separate pieces of a well-oiled machine. People respected leaders who had this sort of tactical genius, this brilliant insight that resulted in the appearance of being an all-knowing, infallible force to be reckoned with. Ivan Braginski considered himself successful at all of these things.

Except for now. Because of the efforts of one outsider, his entire machine was coming to pieces around him. He was sure that more than one person would be receiving his anger, but for now, he would have to settle with the intruder.

At least he could release some tension.

He seemed to fly down the hallway as he slipped down corridors and turned down hallways, tearing open doors as if they were nothing but cardboard, his face darkening the closer he came to the second floor. He glided past the last corner, his eyes narrowing at the sight of the open door at the end of the hallway. Cracks spidered out around his feet as he stormed across the floor, a soft, angry murmur hissing out from his lips as he slipped inside...

...And froze as the door slammed shut behind him, a jeering click sounding only seconds later.

Outside, Roger sprinted down the hallway towards the stairs, cackling to himself. He reached the bottom of the stairs, whipped around the corner, and promptly plowed straight into Petrov, who had recently recovered from being knocked out, and was reporting back to his boss for further instructions.

"Sorry!" Roger called over his shoulder instinctively as he ran past. A moment later, he almost stumbled as he realized what he had said, then shook his head with a slightly bemused look and kept running.

Petrov lay where he had fallen for a moment in complete shock. When his mind had computed the implications of what had just occurred, he jumped up and dashed up the stairs to find his boss as fast as he could. When he reached the upstairs hallway, he heard a pounding noise coming from behind one of the doors. Frowning, he stepped forward to open it, only to have it swing forward with the force of a small cannon and hit him in the face, knocking him back into the wall.

Ivan smashed through what larger pieces of the door remained into tiny splinters with his boots, murmuring some strange phrase repeatedly under his breath. A rather crooked smile had appeared on his face, stretching from ear to ear with his eye twitching slightly above. Ignoring his unconscious henchman, he stormed down the hallway, bringing with him a feeling of absolute doom.

* * *

And we _finally_ introduce a new character. Other than that, not really too much goin on in this chapter... you know, aside from Ivan coming to kill us all.

Reviews keep me and CreativeBomb safe from Ivan's wrath. (we did have him get tricked into being locked in one of his own rooms, after all. he's not very happy with us.)


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